of Bengal alone. The enthusiasm for boar-hunting becomes almost a madness with those who have tasted the sport in its perfection. Nor can we wonder at it; for, scarch the world through, where will you find as worthy, as noble an enemy as the grisly hog of Hindostan? Always savage, even wantonly so, and therefore more dangerous to meet than a tiger in the jungle, as the latter will generally retire if allowed, and the boar will often charge in very wantonness, the wild boar of Bengal, when once wounded, is a very demon in ferocity and courage. Little cares he for his own life in such cases, if, in dying, he can revenge himself on his destroyer. Often may a wounded boar be scen close to a jungle-side, which, if he once entered it, would set pursuit at defiance, scorning to take advantage of the cover, which, perhaps, ten minutes before, when unwounded, he had sought hard to reach. In such cases, with his stern, perhaps, against one of the jungle bushes, or the rank grass, which would so quickly hide him from his tormentors, there will he stand with anger in his, cycs, and his checks speckled with the foam which flies from his mouth as he champs his tushes, darting forward every now and then in a savage charge; and though generally baffled in his attempts, and perhaps more and more wounded at cach and every effort, resigning his vengeance only with his life, giving and asking no quarter !

Edgington's enemy, on this occasion, had, however, no jungle to retreat to, even had he wished to do so, which the expression of his eyes told plainly he did not. He was truly a splendid boar, a true "blue boar," as they are called; when of mature age they become blue-black; and his formidable curled tushes showing whiter than ivory on the dark ground of his face, were in themselves a sight to make a pigsticker dare much for them. As he stood, his shoulders and fore-arms were covered with thick blood, which bubbled forth all round the spear-point fast between his shoulders, and ran down his neck and legs to the carth. The shaft of the spear, as we have before stated, inclined at an angle of forty-five over his head, and as he watched Edgington, he often looked up at the bamboo above him and the lead on the end, as if trying to make out why it was that whenever he moved from side to side, the bamboo also moved, and the leaden head moved most of all; at which times, also, the pain between his shoulders was much increased.

Edgington was in no way doubtful as to the issue of the combat about to be renewed, but he would, at the same time, have felt thankful if his old spear were not fast in the pig's back. It was not that he felt more at home with his own spear than with a stranger's, but it was that the pig when he now charged carried an extra and formidable weapon, in the shape of four pound weight of lead at the head of the spear-shaft, which was higher than Edgington's saddle, and which, striking with the force of the hog's speed, was quite enough to kill his horse if it hit him on the forehead, or to break his own leg. The danger was, morcover, somewhat heightened by the fact that the spear-top inclined a little to the off or right-hand side of the pig; and as the horse invariably passes on that side, to enable the rider to deliver the spear with the right hand, the chance of collision was, of course, thereby increased.

Our hero saw all this, and duly weighed it as he returned with the new spear; but all the thinking in the world could not alter the facts, and beyond his determination to try and lessen the danger by endeavouring to spear the boar as he stood, or, in other words, to ride so suddenly and so fast at him, that he would not have time to charge, he did not allow himself to anticipate danger, even for his dear Arab horse, for whose safety be truly concerned himself much more than for his own.

As he cantered back after these cogitations, he did not do so in a direct line with the pig, but rather as if he purposed passing him; but when his horse was about one hundred yards off, he suddenly turned him straight at the boar, and putting both spurs into the Arab's flanks, rushed up at almost railroad speed. Quick as he performed this manœuvre, the savage and wily pig was not behind him, for he, too, started at full career to meet his antagonist, the spear in his back swaying fearfully as he did so, and the leaden head threatening destruction to anything or anybody it struck. There was no time to think of the danger, for the next moment they met; and just before Edgington buried his spear in the boar's neck, the dreaded leaden top struck the Arab a violent blow on the shoulder.

Both stopped quicker after this second encounter than they had the first timeEdgington's horse, because the stroke had lamed him, and the poor pig had now nearly received his quietus.

Though lame, the Arab was but slightly so, and readily obeyed his rider's wish to return and despatch the pig. It required neither courage nor skill to do this, for he was fast bleeding to death, and on Edgington's return to his side was quite unable to advance a step to meet him. He died as he had fought, game to the end, making faint efforts up to the last moment to wound the horse, quite regardless of the repeated spear-thrusts he received, until nature could hold out no longer, and he sunk at the Arab's feet, a noble example of the courage, ferocity, and endurance of his race!

"I'm so sorry about your poor mare; how is she?" asked Edgington, as young Black came up to see their now lifeless antagonist.

Very bad, I fear," he answered; "I much doubt if she'll ever run again. What an enormous beast!" he continued, putting his foot on the boar ; no wonder he sent my marc flying as he did. Tell me about the mare-what can I do? She's a great deal too badly cut to walk back to camp.”

"Let me see her," Edgington said, jumping off his horse and leaving him where he stood. "Never mind my Arab; he wont stir, or if he does, it will only be to follow me. Poor fellow," he added, looking back, "I fear he's somewhat lame from that nasty blow he got with the leaden head of your spear in the last charge."

On reaching the spot where the mare lay, Edgington, who had somewhat studied the veterinary art, saw at a glance that she could not live many hours, and that it was but lost labour to attempt removing her to the camp. He told his young companion so plainly, who was not a little distressed thereat, notwithstanding that he had himself guessed as much.

Ah, Captain Edgington,” said Black, with a doleful face,“ she was such a good mare, and so fond of me, poor thing! I shall never forget her; she is the first horse I ever had that was all my own, and, I dare say, I loved her the more for it. Tell me," he resumed, after a moment's pause, as he gazed at the poor animal before him, breathing heavily, with its eyes glazed and staring, "was it my fault that the boar knocked her over and wounded her ?"

"Oh no," our hero replied, unwilling to pain him; "such accidents must happen every now and then. See, here are our syces coming; the pig brought us here a pretty good pace, or they'd have arrived long ago. There are two villagers with them, .we'll send one to get a hackery. to take the boar to camp; and as for your poor mare, my dear fellow, I fear you can do nothing but let her die where she lies.' The young indigo-planter did not speak, but he knelt down by the head of his dying steed, and, bending over, pressed his lips to her muzzle. When he arose, tears were in his eyes, which he quickly, however, brushed away, and turning to Edgington, said "Yes, I'll go back with you now, but I'll leave my syce here with the mare till she dies, and he shall go and get her water from the next village."

Of course Edgington is miserable in his married life, and at last sends for Marion a ward of his, of excelling beauty. She arrives and draws forth the love of the wife as far as it is possible for such a woman to love. At the beginning of 1857, in the course of the Relief, Edgington's Regiment is sent to Cawnpore, and the march is described. There we are introduced to the Rajah of Bithoor who sees Marion, and by his gaze at a ball terrifies her. Hoby meanwhile has learned to love her, but dare not express his love. Beatrice's mother is taken ill and she must return to Patna, so that her husband and ward are at Cawnpore when the mutiny breaks out. Of Beatrice we hear no more. All the preliminaries of the storm are depicted. At last it bursts and our hero and his Ward, like the rest, flee to the entrenchments. The assault is described, the life of misery and suspense, the deaths of agony. Young Hoby is wounded and he dies, but not until Marion and he confess their love at his dying bed. But terms are offered, and forth go the wretched band, reduced from 700 to 450, to the boats.

Marion had exacted from her guardian a promise that he would shoot her rather than allow her to fall alone into the traitors' hands. They have reached the boats and are already on board, when they discover the treachery :

Three reports of cannon, in quick succession, from the Nana's camp, while the crowd of natives about the boats gave way on all sides, called forth Edgington's last exclamation.

"Great God help us!—treachery it is!" roared out Merton, as he saw two guns, previously hid, run out at top of the bank, while the port-fires burnt ready in the hands of the gunners. "We've still a chance. Shove away men, its a case of life

and death; she's moved a little already; another shove, and she's off!"

Whether the next attempt would have floated her cannot be known, for it was never made. As Merton finished speaking, even as the men on board, fully alive to the danger, collected their strength for a good trial, a volley of musketry was heard, and Merton sprang off the deck with a stifled scream, still keeping his hold on the bamboo. The only two others who had been exerting their power on the same pole, thus startled, let go their hold, and as it swung on one side, while Merton convulsively grasped it in the air, it precipitated him into the water, a lifeless corpse, for the bullet had traversed his brain.

Many others, both afloat and ashore, fell at the same moment; and a wild cry of despair rent the air, as the women heard the treacherous fire, and knew it portended · death to all.

Mrs. Merton, transfixed for an instant with horror when she heard her husband's cry, rushed out the next from under the covered portion of the boat, and, with one long terrific scream, in which the name she so dearly loved was distinguished, plunged into the water after the sinking body, and disappeared with it.

A scene too horrible for words faithfully to portray then commenced. Volleys upon volleys of musketry were poured into the boats, the two guns on the bank belched forth grape on that hapless multitude, while those who had not yet embarked were cut down where they stood, or hunted from side to side-a hundred sabres, flashing in the morning sun, testifying to the number and animosity of their enemies. But man was not the only prey of the treacherous and cowardly rebels, for the sand on the river's bank drank in also the blood of gentle woman, while little children were trampled under foot, or flung in the air and caught on the sword's point, their mothers, if still alive, rending the air with screams. Nor were those in the boats safer, for, crowded and huddled together under the useless covering described, the grape and the bullets entered and struck down many.

It is a horrible scene enacting,-it has no parallel on history's page,-but it will continue; for though the shriek of woman, the low-muttered curse of betrayed manhood, the cry of childhood, rise on high, they awake no pity in that arch-fiend the Nana, who, having organized the plot, now quietly looks on as his myrmidons work out his bloody ends.

All fell not, however, as sheep under the butcher's knife. The bold-hearted Englishman, the now desperate Eurasian, saw that hope there was none, and they fought like lions, selling their lives as dearly as they could. A few, on the first discharge of musketry, had jumped overboard, and attempted to swim to the three boats already loose, which had now reached the centre of the river, but most of them were drowned or shot by the sepoys as they swam. The greater number, however, rcmained where they were, true to their posts, guarding the women and children with them, and falling at last on the bloody boat-decks, monuments of the courage, the devotion, of the Anglo-Saxon, and the base treachery of the Asiatic!

Oh, how Edgington, in those fearful moments, envied those of his comrades who had no female charge to attend to. How his brain swaan, as he realized how utterly all hope was gone, and the dark promise made to Marion flashed across his mind.

"Arthur," said a tremulous voice," Arthur, I will be shot by your side." Edgington turned, and there, as an angel of light amidst the dark scenes enacting, stood Marion Paris, still beautiful, with a wild light in her eyes, and her partly-untramelled golden hair, blown out by the hot blasts, brushing against his cheek.

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But it was not Edgington alone who remarked the young girl and her wild beauty; the rajah, on the bank, did so too, and shrieked out,

"Cease firing on that boat. There is the prize-the girl in white. A hundred gold mohurs to whoever brings her to me.

The Nana was not near, but Edgington heard those loud and fearful words, and trembled as he did so.

Marion heard them not, but she saw the rajah pointing at her, while some men left his side and approached the boat.

In an instant the recollection of her dream was revived, with all its horrors. "Arthur, Arthur! save me! save me!" she cried, as she clutched his arm, and, with a wild light in her eyes, looked up to heaven.

"There is but one way," whispered Edgington, as he bent his head to hers, while a frightful pallor overspread his face.

"I choose that way! It is that way I mean. Your promise-remember! Quick, 'twill be too late directly."

"God bless thee then in death, my Marion !" exclaimed Edgington, as he imprinted one long ardent kiss on the lips of the young girl. It was the first and last kiss he ever gave her. She shut her eyes, for she could not look on the instant death which she knew awaited her. One instant more, as, with a trembling hand, the pistol was cocked, and the next the brains of Marion Paris bespattered the chest of her guardian.

"Now, hell-hound!" shrieked Edgington, as he leapt from the boat, all tremor, all fear past, and rushed up the bank towards the Nana. "Alas! I cannot reach him!" he added, with a despairing tone, as he was met by the rajah's emissaries; but my bullet may. One chance remains, if successful, I die happy.

With steady nerves, in the wild tumult raging, he rested his revolver on his left arm, and fired the last charge it contained at his-at England's deadly foe; but the Nana was reserved for a later fate, and the bullet touched him not.

Another moment and the spirit of Edgington, freed from its corporal tenement by the sabres of the rebels, winged its way, in goodly company, to that abode where treachery and cruelty exist not.

The Armies of the Great Powers. By Lascelles Wraxall. London : W. H. Allen and Co. 1859.

While in

MR. WRAXALL was editor of the Naval and Military Gazette. that office his duties led him to devote great attention to the Military administration and organization of the Five Great Powers, on which he wrote a series of articles in the paper which he edited. Desirous, as he says in his Preface, that his labours should have something more than an ephemeral existence, he collected his papers, and with additions they constitute the volume before us. It may be regarded as a supplement to the author's former work, "Hand-book to the Naval and Military Resources of the Principal European Nations." It contains an immense mass of information on the history as well as the detailed organization of the Great Armies of the world, narrated in a lively style, and accompanied by suggestions and remarks which are always of value. Our military as well as civilian readers will find in its pages many facts of which they were before ignorant, and which are in themselves both curious and important. The book has additional value in the opportunity that it affords, for the first time, of looking at the whole apparatus of civilized warfare with one glance, and comparing its various JUNE, 18 59.

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modes in the chief countries of Europe. The result of the comparison will not be favourable to the British Army in its externals and organization, while it is most flattering to its materiel, its pluck, and high moral qualities. The book appears at a time when it will be especially valuable, when war is impending in Europe, and is inevitable. An appendix contains information on the Turkish and Sardinian Armies, and a List of Bengal Corps that have mutinied or been disbanded.

The one fact, however, that brings the volume under our notice is, that it contains a chapter full of facts on the Anglo-Indian Army, forming as it must do a necessary part of an account of the British Army. Mr. Wraxall candidly confesses that he cannot draw any of his statements on this part of his subject from his own experience, but is indebted for his analysis to the well-known article the subject in the "Revue des deux Mondes" written by M. de Valbezen, who was for some time French Consul at Calcutta, to Comte de Warren's work 'L'Inde Anglaise' who was formerly an Indian Officer, and to the English books by General Briggs, "India and Europe Compared" and Rafter's "Our Indian Army." He is thus enabled to take a more impartial view of the subject, than if he had confined himself entirely to the views and statements of our own countrymen.

We can do little more here than recommend our readers to look to this volume if they wish a condensed account of our Indian Army as it was before the Rebellion. On the subject of the bravery of the sepoys, the author regards them as excellent troops so long as they are led by British Officers to whom they feel an attachment. Such instances are cited as their standing the brunt of a charge from the French at the battle of Porto Novo in 1782, and driving them back, as their valour at the battle of Port Louis in the Isle of France, and at the lines of Velter Vieden in Batavia in 1811. The opinion of the late Sir Henry Havelock was very strong on the other side, that in all circumstances they were arrant cowards save where they had every advantage on their side. His experience was that only a very few of their officers ever shewed anything like true courage. The first sepoys seem to have been disciplined in Bombay, for the first mention we have of them is in 1747 when a corps of 100 sepoys from that Presidency and 400 from Tellicherry joined the army at Madras. A company of Bombay Sepoys also was present at the battle of Plassey. The first Artillery force organized in Bengal was in 1749. It was composed of Sailors drawn from Boscawen's Squadron, and for a long time it was jealously guarded against the admission of natives. The only irregular native contingent that remained faithful during the Rebellion was the Hyderabad Contingent consisting of 4 field batteries, 4 regiments of cavalry and 6 of infantry, or about 10,000 men. The other contingents were faithless, viz. :